LOG - July Catch-All/TDM Prompts (OPEN)

[conning]

Who: Neal and VARIOUS PEOPLE, POSSIBLY INCLUDING YOU?
When: Throughout July
Where: All around Gloucester
Summary: TDM prompts, as well as some other stuff, will get more specific as I write them.
Warnings: Nothing big at the moment tho lord knows that's bound to change. Scopophobia, paranoia, the issues mentioned in the TDM prompts.

Comments

[conning]

"I don't!" He turns back sharply, angrily, then catches himself again and looks away. "I don't want someone else deciding who I am. Deciding they know something about me because I tick some boxes. All right?"

Ah. So that's it. Or that's part of it, anyway.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up skeptically.

"So... you've spent so much time crafting this identity that you can't accept any outside help in understanding yourself because more than you want to do that, you want to maintain the flawless facade you've built."

[conning]

Neal takes another step back, confused and angry and hurt and completely unsure of where half of those feelings are coming from.

"What do you want from me?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shakes his head. "No. The question is 'what do you want from you?'"

[conning]

For one helpless moment Neal wants to hit Malcolm, and that thought is so repulsive that it unravels everything else. He squeezes his eyes shut, stomach pitching with disgust.

"I don't know," he finally manages. "I don't know. I just want to not feel like this. I went there because I wanted someone to fix this, not tell me something else was wrong."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's expression softens.

"You're not a car, Neal. You can't just go to a specialist, have them throw up the hood and repair you. That's not how trauma works. You came here with layers of it already and everything that's happened ramps it up. If you have ADHD, that's another thing adding to the mix, and if you have it, it will inform how they treat your trauma, because a neurotypical brain will need a different sort of treatment than a neurodivergent one."

[conning]

A pause. Then, "Oh."

Because... "That makes sense."

He looks down.

[abrightboy]

"In your interview, they saw things that suggested this disorder to them, but until they do a proper assessment, they don't know. But the answer to that question will suggest the direction of your treatment. You have to be willing to take an honest look inside your head if you want to process your trauma. Facades and masks... they crack, eventually, if there's no release of the pressure. There's no place for them inside your therapist's office," Malcolm explains carefully.

[conning]

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Neal admits, very quietly.

He comes back to the couch and sits down next to Malcolm, slowly. "I don't know if I trust these people enough for that. Anything they offer comes with a file that's probably accessible to everyone who thinks they need to know what's in it."

[abrightboy]

“Like who? What are you afraid They’ll learn about you?” Malcolm asks. “Nobody you’ve ever known is here. At this point, you’re only hiding out of habit. I used to do that. Know what’s the hardest thing to do that ends up being just… just the hugest relief? Not hiding. And it gets easier and easier once you take the first terrifying leap off that cliff.”

[conning]

Neal stares at his hands. "What if Keller shows up? Or someone else from my past?"

He rubs his face. "I..."

Neal looks at Malcolm, and for a second his expression is unreadable. "I'm not in Paris because I want to be in Paris. I do love the city, but... I'm in Paris because I can't go back to New York. Not just because I ran out on the FBI. I faked my death in the middle of an investigation, right after the arrest, so the people we took down wouldn't have any reason to go after the people I cared about. They thought I was dead, so there was no point."

He looks down again. "I can't tell the truth. I can't stop hiding."

A pause. "I don't know how."

[abrightboy]

“Then why tell me that? Isn’t it dangerous if anyone knows?” Malcolm points out. “Why would you trust me? You haven’t even known me for a year. We’ve only been dating for six months.”

[conning]

"Because," Neal says, the word almost defensive. "I do trust you. I..."

God, he's tired. "I don't know. I don't know."

He leans forward, dragging his hands into his hair and sitting like that, half-folded on the couch. "I don't know."

He hates those three words so much.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches him for a moment, not sure if touch would be welcome.

“Do you like it? Coming home and… “ Not lying. But he’s not sure how to put it. “Coming home and… trusting it?”

[conning]

He wishes, on a level deep enough that he doesn’t know how to vocalize it, that Malcolm would touch him. He doesn’t wish that from many people. He reaches for Malcolm’s hand with one of his own, lacing their fingers together.

“I think so.” A long pause. “Yes.”

[abrightboy]

When he takes Malcolm’s hand, Malcolm grips his back tightly. For dear life, one might say.

“Would you like it if you felt that way more? More often, more places?”

[conning]

“Yes,” Neal says tiredly. “I’ve always wanted that. Even thought I could have it, for a while.”

[abrightboy]

“What changed your mind?” Malcolm asks.

[conning]

“It wasn’t just one thing.”

He stops, instinct to keep the details private kicking in again. He could laugh at himself if he wasn’t so tired. What does it matter at this point? Everyone in the office knows about his father, about Rachel, about how he grew up. Specifics, no, but generalities? There’s no mystery left in Neal Caffrey’s background.

“…What do you want to know? Ask me whatever you want.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm considers that a moment - really considers it - before he speaks.

“What happened before you came here that made you so afraid to go out with me?”

CW mentions of gaslighting and suicide

[conning]

That was not on the list of things Neal was braced for. He falters, the reasons overwhelming, for a second at a loss with where to start.

“I liked you. Good things don’t happen to people I like.” That’s not an answer. Not enough of one. “…The first woman I was ever really serious about died in an explosion that was meant for me. Another one ended up in a Greek prison because of something I did and I didn’t even know it until later. I didn’t even think to look for her.”

Never mind that he and Alex had always drifted in and out of each others’ lives like that.

“Sara… Sara got away clean.” He makes an ironic little noise. “We almost got married. I proposed, even, sort of, but we both knew it would never work.”

A long pause. “Then came Rebecca. I told you a little about her. I fell hard. She was smart, and funny, and in love with art. I thought she was anyway. Turns out ‘Rebecca’ was an identity built by a former MI5 freelancer who scoped me out for a job. She blackmailed me into it using an old enemy, and faked Rebecca so she could get close to me and make sure I was doing what she wanted. I loved her.”

The last statement is a little strangled. He clears his throat. “…She ended up loving me, too, but not the parts of me I wanted her to. I helped apprehend her. She killed herself.”

[abrightboy]

“Explain how the second one ended up in a Greek prison? How was that your fault?” Malcolm asks.

[conning]

“That’s a long story,” Neal says. “Short version, the three of us—me, my friend Mozzie, and Alex—found a cache of stolen art that would have been enough to buy a decent-sized island to retire to with what was left, and Mozzie and I ended up cutting her out. We lost the whole thing, eventually, but her part in finding it made her all but unemployable. The work she was able to get landed her there.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm frowns. “So her ending up there didn’t actually have anything to do with you. She wasn’t arrested for that crime; you weren’t involved in the crime she was arrested for…”

[conning]

“Sure,” Neal says tiredly. He’s not up for an argument about responsibility right now.